


The Faerie Shota

by shotaku



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Shotacon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28949277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotaku/pseuds/shotaku
Summary: Faerie magic transports Seamus to a world where shota exist, but fairie magic also has its price.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 7





	The Faerie Shota

Seamus stamped the snow from his boots and pushed open the old wooden door. Ireland is filled with pubs in old buildings with old wooden doors. This one might easily have been confused with any of the others, notable for its normality. Of course, that was the intent. To be aware of the magic here, one needn't believe in faeries, but an open mind surely ought to be a prerequisite.

Inside, there was even less to distinguish it. Patrons sat at tables and told each other elaborate stories that had been embellished on repeated retellings to the point where the boundaries between truth and fiction could no longer be ascertained. Ginger-haired servers, some freckled, some fair-skinned, carried mugs of beer two or three to a hand. These they set down on the tables unobtrusively before hurrying away so as not to interrupt the storytelling in progress. All of them down to the last appeared to be too young to work in Ireland much less to serve ale in a pub. This did not seem to concern anyone else, and Seamus was certainly not one to object, so he made his way to the bar and took the only available seat.

Soon after he seated himself at the bar, the attentive barkeeper came for his order. He was pleasant enough, but his eyes appeared to be searching Seamus' very soul. "What can I make for you?"

"Redbreast, rocks, cola back, please." Seamus loved whiskey and cola, but he also hated it. Adding any mixer to a good Irish whiskey was nothing less than a crime, but it was also a guilty pleasure. Today though, this was his order not because it was what he wanted but because it was what he was told to order. 

Seamus glanced around at the patrons beside him. To his left, he was astonished to find that he had mistaken the short hair and heavy coat to be those of a man. In fact, the woman seated next to him was beautiful - black Irish with dark complexion, deep emerald green eyes, and short-cut hair that tapered toward the center of her forehead somewhat like the bow of a ship. She gave him a friendly smile and then went back to her drink.

"Excuse me," Seamus said by way of apology rather than interruption. "Did I take someone's seat?"

The woman gave him another smile. "No. That seat was yours."

"Oh. I just assumed - I mean," Seamus was stammering a bit now. Perhaps it was her odd turn of phrase that threw him off guard. "It's just that women don't normally come to the pub alone, at least not to the pubs that I frequent."

She looked Seamus in the eyes this time. "Of all places, a woman is safe from molestation here. I think you already know that." Seamus' drink arrived, whiskey on ice with a chaser of cola in a separate glass. The woman looked forward again and said, "Cola rocks, whiskey back gets more."

Seamus was taken aback by this. He had expected this comment from the barkeep, but not from the beautiful woman who happened to be seated beside him. He had been prepared for this exchange of words, and he already knew the expected response. "Cola fueled friends to lovers lemon."

Having said this, it was as though the world around him stopped. Seamus was dimly aware of the activity in the pub around him. The sounds of the stories being told and of the mugs of ale clinking together in the servers' small hands receded into the background. He was not certain how he had made his way from the bar back to the old wooden door, and he did not remember opening that door. He stepped over the threshold and was outside again, but it was not cold, and there was no snow. There was only road and buildings surrounded by patches of green grass, and in the distance, rolling hills that were also green. And beside him still was the beautiful woman. Eventually, Seamus could hear some of what she was saying to him.

"...may stay as long as you... whenever you choose... same door." The woman's words came sporadically to Seamus while the rest disappeared on the wind. "But... warn you... can never return."

With that, the woman passed back through the doorway and was gone. As Seamus stood at the side of the road gathering his senses, a young boy no older than ten years old rounded the corner running. With intent to cross the road, he looked for traffic in the other direction and didn't see Seamus until it was too late. Still somewhat dizzy, Seamus fell to the ground, and the young boy fell on top of him.

The boy made no attempt to get up but pressed himself up with his arms until he was far enough away to see Seamus's face clearly. "Sorry sir! I didn't see you there." 

Seamus was amazed to see that the boy lying on top of him was perfect - not like a real boy but like the shota boys he loved so much. His brown eyes matched his unkempt brown hair as though they had been colored with the same paint. He was shirtless, and Seamus could see all the way down his flat stomach which still showed the boyish musculature beneath the smooth skin. And Seamus noticed that the boy's shorts hung down off his waist toward the ground as he pushed himself off the man, clearly showing that there were no garments other than shorts on this boy. 

"It's alright," Seamus replied finally. "I think it was meant to happen."

The boy scrunched up his nose at this as though Seamus had spoken in another language. Sliding back onto his knees in order to stand up, he winced and fell over beside Seamus, holding his right knee in pain.

"Are you okay?" Seamus scrambled up to see what was wrong. Pulling the boy's hands away from his knee, Seamus sighed with relief. "Oh, it's nothing more than a scrape. They do hurt, but that's all they do."

At this, the boy writhed on the ground. "It huuurts! Ow! I can't walk. Carry me - Please!" Seamus recognized this as the typical sort of overacting a boy engages in when he is in want of attention, but he did not need the boy drawing the attention of everyone nearby as though he were causing him harm, so he agreed to the boy's demands.

"Alright, alright. I'll carry you. Just stop your moaning and quiet down. Come on." Seamus lifted the boy off the ground and settled him in with the boy's head upon his shoulder and gentle breaths tickling his neck. "You weigh nearly nothing if you weigh anything at all," Seamus remarked, to which the boy said nothing in response. "So, if I'm going to carry you home, we should at least know each other's names. I'm Seamus."

"Seamus," answered the boy dreamily.

"And what's your name?" Seamus decided he would need to ask a more direct question to get the answer he wanted."

"Connor," the boy said and then repeated, drifting off to sleep, "Seamus... Seamus..."

"Hey! Don't fall asleep. You have to tell me where your home is." Seamus bounced Connor up and down in his arms, but it was no use. A young boy sleeps soundly until he has slept enough, and there was nothing to be done about that. It was at this point that Seamus realized not only that he carried in his arms a half-naked boy whose home was unknown but also that his own home in this world was unknown to him.

Seamus walked with the boy in his arms past the courthouse where the rabble queued to tell their rehearsed lies to judges who have heard those same lies a hundred times before. He walked past the pharmacy where men and women in white coats fulfilled the orders of doctors who had turned to chemistry when their medical science had failed them. He walked past several banks where the possessions of the few served the interests of the elite at the expense of the masses. Finally, he found uniformed gardai and approached them for assistance.

"Excuse me, officers. This boy asked me for help to take him home, but I don't know where his home is."

The officers took one look at the shirtless and shoeless boy asleep in Seamus' arms and laughed. "Sure, that shota boy hasn't got a home. But if you don't want to take him to yours, you can bring him to my place," one of the officers said. "It'll save me time finding one of my own when my shift is done."

"Well, can you at least help me find my place?" Seamus asked. He then thought he should explain why he would need to ask such a question. "I'm new here, and the streets are all still a bit unfamiliar to me."

"Sure. What's your address?"

"Umm... I don't think I remember."

The officer spoke to his partner. "It's starting early today. Men drinking till they can't even remember how they got here or how to get home." He turned to Seamus. "Let's see some ID, then."

"Of course!" Seamus hadn't thought to check his ID. "Umm... Can you check my back pocket for me? Otherwise, i'll have to put him down."

Retrieving Seamus' wallet and finding within it his ID, the officer said, "Well, it's a good thing you haven't gone far. You're just a couple of blocks away. We'll walk you there."

"Thank you!" Seamus was relieved that he would have some place to stay, but he was also still confused by the officers' reaction to Connor. "And what should I do with the boy?"

The officers laughed again. "If you don't know, then that boy will show you what to do, that's sure."

Having reached the door to his second floor apartment, Seamus leaned Connor against the wall and rummaged through his pockets, finally finding a key which fit the lock perfectly. Again, he thanked the gardai and carried Connor into his apartment, closing and locking the door behind them.


End file.
